


Unforeseen

by Thiebes



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Loss, M/M, Major Character Injury, Missing Scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thiebes/pseuds/Thiebes
Summary: in which Flint and Vane return to the Man of War, Charlestown in flames at their heels, to find the ship not as they left it.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Comments: 1
Kudos: 58





	Unforeseen

n which Flint and Vane return to the Man of War, Charlstown in flames at their heels, to find the ship not as they left it. 

The boom of the cannons were fading, but Flint couln’t tell if it was because the guns had stopped or if the ringing in his ears was simply drowning out the noise. Head low, he pulled on the oars in sync with Charles Vane, his rival turned ally in their escape from the authorities of Charlestown. Screams and flames and smoke were all that was left in their wake. 

The Walrus crew is free from their chains, and the other half of Vane’s crew is the one in irons. Billy looks up from the deck as the two captains pull themselves from the boat below, still in chains of their own. 

He and Vane lock eyes, and Flint tenses as a curious nonverbal exchange ensues between them. “ What in the blazes happened here?” Flint looks around at his crew, who are unusually solemn, wary and stealing glances over their shoulders as if expecting an unseen enemy. In all the confusion, it seemed like there was more than the destruction of the city and his trial that had occurred while he was away. Now that the party had returned, they busied themselves with hoisting sail, and returning fire on the remaining soldiers brave enough to pursue them on the small boats. 

“ We handled it,” BIlly says at last, pulling out the keys to unlock their shackles, and Vane merely tilts his head in acknowledgement. 

Flint rubs his wrists and turns to make his way to his cabin. While they had yet to leave the harbor, the danger of the day had nearly subsided,and he wanted to be alone when the adrenaline rush would fade and his mind would be free to sink into thoughts of what he had lost. 

“Where’s the other one? The one who cut the sails? Silver, is that his name?” 

Vane’s question cut through the air and punched him in the gut. He froze, foot half on the floorboard of the deck to listen for Billy’s answer. The ringing in his ears had quieted somewhat, enough that he could now discern anguished cries of the men in the midst of the gunfire and footsteps, muffled and distant. 

When Billy’s answer did not come, Flint whipped around on his heel in time to see a dark look take over the botswain’s face. “Billy,” Flint said in a tempered, cautious tone, eyes narrowed and his blood frozen in his face. 

The sound of the wailing became deafening between them, and Billy closed his eyes in a wince as he heard it, his fists tight and jaw locked. “He saved us all” was all he managed to bite out in Flint’s direction. 

Recognition began to sink in. It was Silver’s voice he heard in muffled agony, floating up accusingly from down in the ship, turning every man’s blood cold on deck. 

And just as sudden as the realization hit, the ship went quiet. Heads turned towards the place where the sound suddenly stopped, and a dark pit dropped in Flint’s stomach. The unanswered question hung in the air thick as fog. The image of Miranda’s body flashed across his mind for an instant, and the rage it brought with it at the thought of any more death was more than he could contain in his body. 

He was already halfway down the wooden staircase before he realized that he’d moved. He could see the outline of the small door leading to the surgeon’s quarters hanging in the darkness ahead of him. A crewman was standing at the door, a sentinel heading off interruptions. 

“Sorry, Captain, I can’t let you in” He said as Flint reached the threshold. “ Howell says no one’s to come in during the amputation. Even you.” 

Flint grabbed the man by the front of the shirt and was about to barge through the door when he felt a hand on his arm. 

“Think about how this looks to the crew,” Billy’s voice was soft but firm. “Vane and his men are still on this ship.”

“ Vane isn’t a problem right now. And if he was, I don’t give a shit.” 

“His men are what got us into this mess. You don’t know what happened on this ship while you were gone.” Flint turned a snarl on Billy, who tightened his grip on the captain’s arm. “ You think you’re the only one who cares about him? They said no interruptions. If you barge in there now, what good will it do?” 

“What the fuck happened on this ship? “ Flint repeated his earlier question in a whisper, wrenching his arm free from Billy’s grip. He let go of the crewman’s shirt and gathered himself. The sentinel brushed himself off and gave Billy a puzzled look. Flint glared up at the taller man, demanding an answer.

Billy sighed deeply before recanting the events of the last day. 

“-- And then Vane’s men tried to take the ship and leave. They took Silver for information on which of us could sail for them. He refused, even under torture. We got control of the ship, but his leg was mangled by the time we got to him.“ Billy looked shaken as he said it. “With the sails, the keys, and the names, that’s three times he’s saved us in less than two days.” He glanced at the door, through which only murmurs of the Howell and the other crew members could be heard. 

Flint sunk heavily against a beam, massaging his temples with one hand. This entire endeavor was a failure, and a costly one at that. His body ached from the battle, and his mind reeled as more and more the weight of these events settled into his psyche. And the fate of Silver’s life was just beyond the door. He hadn’t slept, and the adrenaline and rage was giving way to fatigue. 

Soon after, the door opened, and Dooley stuck his head out. “ He’s stable. Howell just finished the last of the stitches. But he passed out a bit ago. Not sure if we should move him.” 

At this, Flint jumped up and pushed past them into the room, Billy quick behind him. The four remaining men looked up at his entrance, and quickly moved aside to make room for the captain. He noticed Muldoon’s grip slip from the unconscious Silver’s hand. 

And there Silver lay, soaked in sweat and blood and rum, with streaks over his face from the tears. Howell was wiping his bloody hands on an equally bloody rag, and Billy took him aside to speak in whispers in the corner. Flint tried not to look at the mangled boot on the table behind the doctor. Silver’s hair was glued to his face, and his breathing was so low Flint couldn’t hear it, and he was thankful for the soft rise and fall of Silver’s chest to let him know he still was. 

The room was solemn for a moment as they all looked at him. The men seemed not to want to leave his side, standing around the table in silence. 

Billy and Howell’s whispering was getting louder. 

“--needs to be changed at least twice a day. He’s not going to be able to use the stairs-” 

“ Do you think we should move him while he’s still --?” 

“ --others who need wounds tended to, I need the table space.” 

“Take him up to my quarters,” Flint’s voice cut through the room, ending their whispered conversation. “ He’s going to need somewhere quiet till he heals.” 

Billy felt eyes on him as he carried Silver in his arms up to the quarterdeck. Crew members nodded to him as he passed, followed by Flint. Vane had gotten the Man of War underway while they had been under, and the wind whipped at them as they made their way across the ship. Billy tensed himself for some sort of sign from Vane that he might oppose them entry to the cabin, but Vane only watched with a neutral expression and let them pass. Whatever had happened between him and Captain Flint had at least offered them some peace while they made their escape from the colonies. 

Once inside the cabin, they cleared a spot by the window to lay a cot and pillows on which to set the unconscious Silver. Flint bade one of the men to fetch a bucket of freshwater and some rags. Billy lay Silver down on the cot with gentle hands, careful not to bump the wound on the wood. Silver made a soft sound, but did not wake. Then he turned to Flint. 

“You need to rest,” he said sternly. The captain, currently dragging a stool over to the side of the cot, merely sighed. HIs shoulders were drooping and his eyelids fluttered a little more than his liking. He was clearly worn out. 

“I will, once we get him settled.” He seated himself on the stool. Someone on the decks called out for the botswain, and with several glances at the captain, he left the cabin begrudgingly.

As soon as the door clicked, Flint exhaled and closed his eyes. He let his torso relax and shrugged off his coat. Then he allowed himself to look at Silver. 

The man was much as he had been on the surgeon’s table. Stained and barely moving, a small hitch in his brow from the pain he could not escape even while passed out. His hair was still stuck to his neck and face, the dark ringlets tousled and wild. Flint wanted so badly to run his hands through them, but he settled for grabbing the rag and dipping it into the bucket of water. The water was cool and fresh on his hands, and he realized as he wrung the rag just how much they were shaking. His chest was tight as it had been since the trial, and he bit down once again on the rolling threads of heat that threatened to burst from him. He closed his eyes and saw Miranda’s face. He opened them again to Silver’s. For a moment, he could not move. The rag dripped precious droplets down his wrist. 

A jagged breath brought him back to the present. Silver did not move, but Flint peered closely at his face nonetheless. He began to wipe the grime from the wounded man’s face and neck, gently as possible as if he was afraid to touch him. He wasn’t sure how Silver had done it, but he had wormed his way into something Flint didn’t want to lose. He followed the dip of Silver’s collarbone, down to the opening of his shirt. He knew the landscape of Silver’s body by now, and for the moment it felt like a precious thing. He dipped the rag and wrung it again, the water clouding almost imperceptibly. He reached for Silver’s hands and found they had curled into fists. He pried open the fingers gently, rubbing the palm. He turned the hand over to find blood under the fingernails. He stopped for a moment, imagining those clenched fists, nails digging into the skin in pain. His throat was tight. He grasped Silver’s hand and pressed his lips to those fingers, and let go of a strangled sob.


End file.
